


Bathtub

by carrollthevee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrollthevee/pseuds/carrollthevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin wakes after drunken shenanigans with Gwaine.</p>
<p>For Jen, who woke up in a similar scenario yesterday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathtub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkakoDukes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkakoDukes/gifts).



Merlin wakes with a groan. His face is plastered to the pillow and he’s lost near all feeling to his left ear. His cheek is cold from where he’s been drooling into the pillow and he feels like shit. He wiggles his fingers, slow and careful, like he’s afraid something might fall off if he moves too quickly. With sensation slowly returning, he realizes he’s holding a margarita glass in hand. Never a good sign. His bleary eyes manage to realize its full, a perfect ring of salt still clinging to the glass. That’s an even worse sign. Past the glass, he sees the clock flashing 3:00AM in bright green. He sits up slowly, clicking his mouth open and shut for a brief moment before he yawns and throws his legs over the bed.

Merlin aches. His back, his neck, hell, even his face is sore but the worse part is his feet. Or maybe it’s his bladder. He stands in a sudden, needy panic and nearly falls flat on his face when his ankle gives way beneath him. Merlin catches himself against the wall, somehow not spilling a drop of the margarita in hand. Really, why is he still holding that? He finally stops, forces himself to really look and assess the situation. He’s wearing heels and a necklace. Nothing else. Six-inch ankle boots and faux-pearls around his neck… And none of that really matters, with the pressing issue of his exploding bladder. He makes his way to the attached bathroom, surprising grace for nearly spraining his ankle a few seconds ago. As he runs inside he catches a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror, enough to realize something is off, but his focus is on relieving himself and thats what he does, a contented sigh leaving his lips as the pressure finally lets off.

It feels like ages before he’s finished and he takes a step back, finally realizing exactly what it is thats off. Askew on his head is a blond wig. The curls are rumpled and frizzy, but its held shape enough for him to tell its Marylin Monroe. He closes his eyes and brings a hand to his forehead. What the hell had he drunk last night? Merlin sighs, shaking his head—that margarita is starting to sound like a good idea. He opens his eyes and leans against the sink, hissing and standing at attention when the cold porcelain makes contact with his skin. He eases back, and raises a leg to tug with his free hand at the laces of the heels he’s wearing. When he finally wrenches the pair of them off of his feet and throws them back into the room at his bed is when he realizes he’s not alone. The lump of blanket on the bed groans as a heel hits it, and Gwaine emerges from its depths.

“Fuck me,” he groans, eyes finding Merlin when he sits up. The dim bit of moonlight peeking in through their broken blinds gives Merlin just enough light to tell that Gwaine’s got lipstick smeared over his face, and his hair’s in a state that rivals their wildest of sex nights.

Merlin cracks a small smile. “Pretty sure I did that already.”

Gwaine looks him over, a dirty, lopsided grin falling into place. “Yeah. Still feeling it too.” Gwaine stretches languidly, a moan reminiscent of the night before passing his lips. Merlin takes a moment to wonder how anyone can wake up looking like pure sex. Its not fair. He crashes back to reality when Gwaine speaks again. “Did you know you’re wearing lipstick?”

“So are you.”

When Merlin turns back to the mirror and sees his face is clean, he hears Gwaine chuckle, and his voice follows with, “Not on your face, dear.”

Looking down at himself, Merlin feels a flush break out across his face before he looks back at Gwaine and has to ask, finally, “Why did I wake up wearing heels?” _…with lipstick on my dick_ , is the question he keeps to himself. He knows why.

Gwaine makes a “come here” motion and Merlin makes his way towards the bed, stepping carefully with his aching feet. When he’s close enough Gwaine wraps his hand around the pearls and pulls Merlin in, grinning wide. He gives Merlin a sloppy kiss, all tongue and sudden passion and it leaves Merlin a little dumbstruck. And then he steals the margarita from Merlin’s hand. Cunning bastard.

He downs the drink before shrugging. “Could be worse, love. You could have woken up in the bathtub.”


End file.
